


What artists do in darkness

by BanyanIndigo



Series: Artists and Angels [1]
Category: White Collar (TV 2009)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:20:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27627359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BanyanIndigo/pseuds/BanyanIndigo
Summary: Neal's day starts with getting kidnapped and ends, well, still being kidnapped. As Neal waits for Peter to find him, he makes an unexpected ally, struggles to keep himself safe, and wonders why Peter hasn't found him yet.
Series: Artists and Angels [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2024263
Comments: 12
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

Neal gazed out over his balcony, bare feet slightly chilled because of the early morning air. The city was beautiful in the cool grey swathe of light cast before the sun rose. He thought of the day ahead, whether they would have an interesting case, or any case at all. They had just wrapped up the third insurance fraud of the month, and he told Peter to either give him a day off, or find a more interesting case. 

He lifted his Italian roast coffee to his mouth, lips curling upwards as he heard a key unlocking his front door. He padded back into his house with the intention of putting a shirt on before Peter entered. He slipped an undershirt on and paused, hearing the lock continue making noises, long after a key would have worked. His eyebrows knitted together as he picked up his phone. 

Peter picked up on the fifth ring. “Hey Peter, please tell me you are outside my house.” Neal heard a shuffling noise and background talking for a moment before Peter responded, voice sleepy and quiet. 

“Neal what are you talking about, why would I be at your house so early. You woke me up.” 

He turned to look at the door, the handle jiggling and shaking. Clearly someone was trying to pick the lock. They weren’t doing very well. 

“Someones trying to get in.” 

Neal moved to the back of the apartment, cracking the door to the closet. “I can hear them trying to pick the lock, they’ve been at it for about thirty seconds or so.” 

Peter thought for a moment. “Ok, I’m heading over. Go into the bathroom and lock the door. I’ll be there soon.” 

Neal hesitated for a moment before deciding to leave the closet door partially open so he could still hear, then walked through the closet to the bathroom. He sat against the bathroom door once he had made sure it was locked, sort of wishing that Peter hadn’t hung up. I mean, his Ford had bluetooth. 

He realized the sounds of lock picking had stopped, and had been replaced by soft shuffling footsteps. He quickly sent a text to Peter. At least, he thought, whoever takes that long to pick a lock can’t be that threatening, right? 

Standing up, he decided to go out there and charm the amateur burglar. He quickly smoothed his hair before running the sink long enough to sound like he was washing his hands. Opening the door had to be smooth and natural to seem as though he had just been using the restroom, culminating in a perfect surprised act when he walked out to face the intruder. 

Step one went perfectly, he even managed to casually whistle a simple tune while walking out into his apartment. 

Things went downhill from there, his clear blue eyes settling on three masked men rummaging though his room before honing in on the very suspicious looking zip ties being gripped in the hand of one of the men. Time seemed to fly as the man closest to Neal grabbed his arms and pulled them back, sending him falling to the floor as he fought against the mans hold. Another, much slimmer man rushed forward to tie a cloth around his mouth and pull a dark bag over his head. The third, another large imposing man, zip tied his hands together and dragged him to his feet. 

Neal never had much interest in physical pursuits, preferring intellect and charisma over brute strength, but, as he struggled hopelessly against the hold of just one man, while being attack by three, he felt he should rethink his priorities. He kicked out franticly, hoping to strike at least on of his attackers. The moment passed far too quickly for him to gain enough purchase to hit any of the men before a needle pierced his bound arm and warmth flooded his veins. 

He was awake enough to feel himself being picked up bridal style and being carried down the flights of stairs, feeling the cool air hit him as the front door was opened, and finally as a car door opened and he was shoved inside to lay across the backseat. 

He was aware of of one of the men sliding into the car next to him, pushing Neals legs up closer to his chest to make room. His limbs felt heavy and far away, but the pull of sleep only lapped at the edges of his mind. Neal tried to focus on where they were going, but as the car started up and hummed beneath him, his drugged mind wandered off to everything from his grocery list to pondering if Peter had ever even gotten out of bed. 

Finally as the car stopped and doors began opening, Neal realized they hadn’t cut his anklet that he was aware of, so there was still hope. All the doors shut. Footsteps on gravel grew fainter as the men walked away. It took him a minute, but Neal recognized that the driver had stayed in the car, he could hear his faint breathing and the sounds of texting. The driver got out after a few moment, opening the door Neals head was resting against. This man was far less gentle, as he pulled Neal out of the car onto the gravel parking lot ground, dragging him by the hem of his undershirt. 

Neal squirmed as best he could as the gravel cut across his skin, embedding itself into the flesh of his hands, forearms, and heals of his feet, however he couldn’t seem to focus enough on moving away from the offending gravel because the man succeeded in dragging him across the lot to another vehicle. 

He was essentially tossed into the back of what felt like a work van, his legs being lifted onto the lap of what he vaguely recognized as the smallest man who attacked him. The back door slammed and the engine started, leaving Neal and the singular man alone. As they began to drive away, the bag was removed from over his head before the kidnapper bunched up the large hood and placed it beneath Neals head. 

“You comfortable?” He asked, voice sounding soft, kind, and rather young. 

Neal looked him over, now that his head was propped up he finally got a chance to see the young mans face. He looked to be in his mid twenties, unkempt brown hair sticking up strangely from having worn the ski mask. His features were young, wide brown eyes and hints of acne ghosting around the hollows of his cheeks. 

Overall he was unassuming, perhaps, in a different setting, he could have been called cute. 

His eyebrows kitted together in what appeared to be genuine concern. He pulled lightly on Neals legs in an effort to improve the comfort of laying in the back of a moving van, drawing Neals attention to his bare ankles. Ok, he thought, so his anklet had been cut.

“Your names Neal, right?” 

Even drugged, Neal could tell when someone was asking a question they already knew the answer to. His mouth felt dry and cottony, probably because of both the sedative and the cloth still tied around his head. He nodded in response. 

The man seemed relieved to get any sort of response from Neal, flashing a toothy smile that made his nose scrunch up. They rode in silence for a while, Neals head still swimming through every fever dream thought you could think of, mostly coming back to the singular thought that the person who sat with him was nothing what he expected.

After what seemed like a lifetime, Neal softly groaned behind the gag, hoping the kid would get the message. The boy reached over and gently pulled the cloth away, taking care with Neals head. 

“You thirsty?”

Neal nodded, grateful he seemed to understand, desperate to ease the desert crawling down his throat. He was helped to sit up, a comforting arm behind his back holding him steady as a straw was lifted to his lips. After a moment, wooziness won out and he was helped to lay back against the makeshift pillow. 

“Whats your name?” He slurred a bit, but sleep felt less like a possibility, and his instincts told him that an interpersonal connection might just save him. 

“My name’s,” He hesitated a moment, “Eli.” 

Neal thought for a moment, the hesitation could have been from making up a name, or from considering if he should tell him. Regardless, any name at all would work as long as he answered to it. 

Eli’s phone sounded an alarm, light, pleasant, tones inconsistent with the present situation. He reached into a box that had been bolted to the floor of the van, pulling out a syringe that had been prefilled, along with a bottle of sterilizing alcohol, cotton pads, and a plastic box marked with a sharps label. 

“No no please,” Neal shifted away as much as he could, “please don’t sedate me again Eli.” He quickly wiped down his hands with an alcohol soaked pad before reaching for Neals arm. 

“Im sorry, but,” He glanced to the wall dividing them from the cab, “Please just let me do this, it won’t knock you out, I promise. Just make you kinda drowsy like before.” 

His tone verged on pleading, and Neal wondered if this was an act to put him at ease. However, three loud bangs sounded from the cab section, followed by a gruff voice demanding to know if Neal had been sedated yet. 

Eli shifted down to be able to reach Neals arm better, cleaning the area before pulling the cap off the syringe. Neal pulled away, hoping to be able to shield the veins in his arms from the sedative, however Eli gripped his arm with surprising strength, quickly administering the sedative and going over his arm again with the sterilizing agent. 

Neal curled onto his side as much as he could with his arms behind his back as Eli disposed of the needle and syringe into the sharps box and throwing the few cotton pads into a plastic bag before packing everything back into the box built into the van. 

His head began to swim and sleep claimed him in several short increments, he did try to keep track of time, but it slipped away from his mind. When he could grasp more firmly to reality he watched Eli, who moved almost constantly in short jerky bursts. He pushed his hair back from his forehead reflexively, bounced his leg while sitting cross legged, and chewed his lip, all while staring at the opposite wall of the van. 

Neal fell asleep for a longer period of time until finally the van stopped and he was being lifted once again. He heard Eli ask one of the other men why he dragged Neal so harshly over the gravel, but everything sounded so far away that Neal tuned out, falling into a half sleep. 

When he woke up, he was alone, bright midday sunlight streaming though a small window near the ceiling. Not much was in the room, a wooden staircase leading upstairs adorned the far wall, a washing machine and dryer tucked beneath it. Single wooden support beam near him. 

Neal was sitting on a small cot, hands now pulled in front of his body, encased in some type of restraints that wrapped around his fingers, keeping them tightened into fists. 

Other than the few visible items, the room was empty, and Neal wasn’t restrained in any way other than his hands, so he walked around for a few moments, looking under the cot and near the washing machines. He felt lightheaded, incredibly dehydrated, and uncomfortable in his pajamas. 

The creme carpet was thick and plush under his bare feet, and he spent several minutes taking in his surroundings and organize his thoughts. He felt his arm twinge where he had been injected, and though his knowledge was limited, he knew that sedatives that didn’t fully put you to sleep didn’t last for very long, which explains why Eli had dosed him again. And judging from the bright sun coming through, they may have even sedated him after arriving at the house. 

He tried to figure out from there how far they had gone from June’s, but after a moment of his thoughts spinning in confusing circles he gave up for the time being, opting to sit on the cot once more and rest his head on his bound hands. 

Time passed sluggishly, and Neal turned his thoughts to the purpose of his abduction. He’d been kidnapped before, but that was usually tied to the case they were working, and it was either him getting too close and being discovered, or someone wanting his knowledge and his talent in the world of art forgery. 

Considering they didn’t have a case, that option was a dead end, and although Neal knew looks could be deceiving, the average suburban basement plus the few people he’d already met didn’t scream the art forgery angle. 

Could be counterfeiting money, his groggy mind supplied, but even that didn’t seem right. Who kidnaps someone in their house, sedates them multiple times, and doesn’t tell them what they want, if what they want is something as mundane as counterfeiting a few thousand dollars. 

His head pounded, cracking open his eyes revealed he had laid down on his side without noticing, as well as the shadows stretching longer and dimmer through the room. 

That cut through the fog for a moment, he’d been taken just about at sunrise. The fading light chilled him to the bone despite the warm air around him. 

He’d been gone for almost a full day. 

So why hadn’t Peter found him yet.


	2. Chapter 2

Neal woke up hungrier and more tired than before he slept, and the light in the room showed him he slept through the night. His head ached and throbbed, but at least his thoughts didn’t swirl in incomprehensible, feverish patterns as much anymore. 

He took stock, starting with himself. 

His head hurt but that was manageable, his shoulders and upper arms still ached from being pulled behind his for so long yesterday, yet with some gentle flexing they seemed fine enough. His back and neck stung from being dragged over the gravel, nothing that sleeping on his side wouldn’t fix in a few days. He was hungry, unbearably hungry, the last meal he had eaten being from the night before he had been taken. 

He was somehow even more thirsty than he was hungry however, making the already stale, hot air of the basement even more unbearable. 

Fine, he thought, not ideal but at least he has thinking clearer. 

He started in on the room, from the light levels it appeared to be morning, anywhere from seven am to ten am. The room was small, only one window facing what sounded like a street. Based on how long he’d been asleep, they couldn’t have gotten far that from Manhattan, certainly not out of the state. Maybe a nearby suburb. He could hear the shuffle of feet pass by, meaning the window did face the sidewalk. Which also meant all he had to do was get someones attention on the street and he would be getting home in time for dinner. Maybe a nice mushroom risotto, he could even open that nice white he’d been saving, invite Moz over for company, get a good nights rest. 

Ok, so maybe his brain wasn’t fully alert yet. 

He pushed himself upright with his bound hands, head swimming but not unbearable. Standing took more effort, his breath quickening as he struggled to grip the wall, propping himself up. 

The window stood above his eye level, a few inches set into the wall. If he compared it to his height of 5’11 he surmised it stood around six and a half feet from the ground. His hands would be visible if nothing else, so long as the window actually was at sidewalk level. 

He walked along the wall, behind the support beam to the window. He reached his hands up slowly so as not to loose his balance, resting his fists onto the small ledge as his shoulders screamed at the movement. 

Having to lean against the wall meant his neck was craned at an awkward angle to watch his hands. No latch that he could see, but his knuckles brushed over what could have been a latch. If the window opened in towards the room, there would be no way he could pry it open without the use of his fingers. 

A few more minutes left him just as uninformed about the latch so he resorted to the one thing he could do. He waited until he heard the sound of someone walking past, before banging his hands as hard on the glass as he could despite the awkward angle. 

No change in the footfalls. 

He hit the window again, hurting his forearms as they slammed into the ledge. 

Nothing. The only sound from outside was cars, which would never see or hear him. 

The door at the top of the stairs creaked open, Eli stood in the door frame with a plate of food and a bottle of water. 

“Oh, um,” He descended the stairs and set the tray down on the cot. “Whatcha doin Neal?” 

Neal looked at him warily, moving to slump with his back against the wall so as to watch the man walk restlessly around the small space. 

He cleared his throat. “What do you want from me?” His voice cracked from dehydration, and he eyed the water Eli had sat down. 

“Oh god you must be so thirsty!” Eli grabbed the plastic bottle and slowly walked over to where Neal was sitting, squatting down to tip the water back into Neals mouth. 

After he had about half the bottle, Eli pulled back, watching Neal wipe a drop of water from his chin with his bound hands. 

“Better?” 

Neal nodded a bit, noting the openness in Eli’s eyes. There’s no faking genuine concern for very long in a situation like this, so he took the question as an honest one. 

“Good. Sorry about your hands,” He vaguely gestured. “Trust me when I tell you it’s the best I could get you.”

Ok that was an odd sentiment, but Neal nodded again, reaching his hands forward in a silent request for aid to stand. He helped him up, getting him sat on the cot with his back to the wall. 

“Man I’m sorry I couldn’t get food down to you earlier, you must be really lightheaded huh?” Neal looked at the sandwich, Lettuce sticking haphazardly from the side, mouth watering at the incredibly low effort meal. 

“Yeah I am really hungry. Thank you Eli.”   
Neal was grateful his voice didn’t crack again, he sounded much more like himself.

Eli glanced nervously from Neal’s bound hands to the food a few times before he sighed, cursing under his breath.

“Look man,” He glanced back toward the door. “I’m gonna get in serious trouble if they know I’m doing this but,” He trailed off, carefully undoing the restraints on Neal’s hands. When he had just about finished with the complicated buckles he stalled, looking Neal in the eye. “You’re not gonna attack me, right?” 

“It’s not in my nature to attack people. I don’t resort to violence to get myself what I want.” He spoke slow, not accusing, just stating, not missing the visible wince Eli gave at the implications of his statement. 

Nevertheless, Eli nodded and finished removing the restraint, allowing Neal to flex his long, cramped, slightly numb fingers. 

He waited another few moments for the feeling to return into his fingertips before reaching for the sandwich. Eli sat on the floor a few feet away, just fidgeting and watching Neal take large, hungry bites of the BLT. 

Neal finished the sandwich and accompanying chips in a few minutes, before carefully unscrewing the water bottle and finishing that too. 

“That was delicious, thank you.” 

Eli beamed, collecting the plate and setting the tray on top of the washing machine. 

“So, um,” Eli started and stopped, before eyeing the stairs again. “Hey give me one second will ya?” He ran up the wooden stairs and disappeared behind the door. 

Neal stood and climbed the stairs, gently opening the door just enough before it would begin to creak. He watched as Eli peered in several other rooms in the small hallway, before standing in the middle, hands on his hips. 

“Dave, Matt! You guys here?” He called out, waiting for a response. When he didn’t get one he quickly turned back for the basement, startling Neal into stepping backwards, bumping up against the railing. Eli yanked the door open, surprised to come face to face with Neal. 

“Oh hey, sorry I didn’t mean to leave like that. Just was wondering if you had to use the bathroom? I needed to make sure it was just us though.” Eli stood back to let Neal walk through the door, pointing to the bathroom.

“Just be kinda quick, if you can, I don’t know when they’ll be back.” 

Neal thanked him and shut the door behind him. This was certainly the nicest kidnapping he’d ever experienced. The only window in the room was in the shower and it was roughly the size of his arm, so climbing out wasn’t an option. 

A quick glance through the cabinets and drawers proved them all completely empty. He was thankful for the opportunity to use the restroom, and when he had finished he used the mirror to pick out bits of gravel stuck in his hair. 

When he emerged, hair pushed back with wet hands, face rinsed, he felt more himself, and he noted the relief on Eli’s face that he had been quick. 

Eli turned, heading back for the basement when he noticed Neal wasn’t following him, instead just standing in the bathroom doorway. 

“Eli, Can you let me go, please?” 

Eli looked stunned as Neal put on his best smile, a smile that dropped quickly at the sound of the front door opening.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for vomiting (not graphic)

“So you must be Matt and Dave.” Neal forced his smile back onto his face as two, tall, muscular men stood at the other end of the hallway, shock and confusion quickly switching to anger, one of them walked up to Neal and gripped his hair, silencing his placating words by slamming his head into the door frame. 

Neals vision swam, something warm trickled down his face. The other man was arguing with Eli, saying things Neal couldn’t begin to hear as his head was smashed into the wall once again, rendering him unconscious. 

Neal woke up to darkness, a throbbing headache, with his leg chained to the support beam. His eyes took a moment to focus, realizing that it wasn’t nighttime that made the room so dark, the window had been boarded over. It took another moment for him to realize he wasn’t alone, a hunched form slumped in front of the dryer in the corner. 

It didn’t take a genius for Neal to know who it was, possible concussion or not. 

He just hoped Eli would wake up soon, he was sat too far for Neal to reach with the chain. From his guess it restricted his movement to about two feet in any direction. 

There wasn’t anything for Neal to do but wait, he noticed with dismay that the hand restraints were back. By his count an hour or so passed before Eli stirred, small movements accompanied with soft groans. 

Neal knew Peter was coming, had to be, but he also knew that his chances of survival were much greater if he stuck by Eli, especially since he still didn’t know why he was here. 

“Eli. You awake?” 

Neal whispered, seeing more movement before the younger man made his way over to the edge of the cot, resting his head back against the fabric. 

“Hey man, how you feeling?” Eli’s words slurred a bit, a strange rattling cough emanating quietly from his lips. 

Neal reached down in what could seem like a comforting gesture, but when he pushed Eli’s hair back from his forehead with his knuckles the younger man was burning up. 

“I’m ok, how are you? You’re burning up, and your breathing isn’t sounding so good either.”

Eli huffed, pulling Neal’s restrained hands back against his forehead. His hands must have been the coolest thing in the room, the air was stiflingly hot, he’d probably taken all the chill out of the metal washer and dryer already. 

“Hmm m’fine, Matt threw me off the stairs though, I think my ribs broken” 

Neal looked up, through the darkness he could make out the edge of the railing, it stood at least six foot off the ground, which would explain the rib and the disorientation. Neal wished he’d paid more attention when the FBI held that weird little seminar about various injuries. Jones and Diana had laughed at the low effort cartoon pictures that had gone with the presentation, citing how “if only they’d asked Caffrey” the presentation would have gone much smoother, leading Neal to spend the rest of the seminar doodling better versions of the cartoons, mostly involving replacing the “man in peril” with an exaggerated caricature of Peter. 

At the time it was a much better use of his time, causing Peter to almost break his facade and laugh at the cartoon of him being eaten by a comically small shark, though now he wished he could know how to help both him and Eli. 

Eli groaned, bringing Neal back to the present. 

“Eli, can you tell me why I’m here, please?” 

He coughed again, breath rattling. “Matt, Dave, and Johnathon are my step brothers. My mom died a month or so ago, sudden, didn’t have time to get good life insurance or anything. Johnny had the brilliant idea of committing insurance fraud to get more money out of the company. You and your partner caught him.”

Neal groaned now too, partially in acknowledgement, partially in finally recognizing what this was about. 

Eli continued, coughing more frequently now. “Matt and Dave spread the word about how much they hated you, some guy put them up to this. Said if they could hand you over he would pay Johnny’s bail.” 

Neal leaned forward, pressing the crook of his elbow against Eli’s forehead, which seemed even warmer than before. There was a laundry list of people who might want something from him, at least that made more sense than just being kept in someone’s basement for no reason. 

“Hey, you still with me?” 

Eli nodded faintly, but his breathing shallowed and, even though Neal couldn’t tell exactly, he thought he saw Eli’s eyes slip closed. 

“Do you know who hired them?” Neal was desperately trying to keep his one potential ally awake. 

Eli jerked, shaking his head. “Said if I didn’t help them they’d turn me in, tell the FBI that Johnny was innocent and that I was the, insurance, defrauder, person, thing.”

Neal tilted his head. “But, wouldn’t that just mean that another brother was in jail?” 

The other man huffed loudly, tugging at his own hair. “I’m only their step brother, they’re a lot older than me,” he coughed again, the rattling in his chest worsening. “My mom married their dad when I was five. Matt’s closest in age to me,” he wheezed and sputtered, coughing up something that Neal hoped wasn’t blood. “He’s eight years older than me, Dave’s, ugh, I think ten years older? Maybe nine? I can’t rememberrr.” His sentence devolved into a whine. He sagged against the cot, breathing irregularly. Neal was mentally scrambling for ways to keep the other man awake and alert, to his knowledge Eli wasn’t restrained in any way, if he could get him coherent enough to undo his own they might actually have a chance of getting out of here. 

“Hey,” Neal lowered his voice, attempting to soothe the younger man. “How much older is Johnathon?”

Eli sniffled, Neal could barely make out the outline of his hands rubbing at his eyes. “Umm,” He paused to cough. “I think he was sixteen when mom married Billy, so he’s eleven years older?”

“Wow, that’s a big age difference.” He was just trying to keep the younger man talking, as long as he was talking he would stay conscious. 

“Yeah, mom had me when she was old and Billy had Johnny young. Anyway,” He sat up a little straighter, coherency returning for a moment. “I guess they looked at me like, just an idiot kid they got stuck watching when mom and Billy went to work.” 

And that was when he slumped forward, his head hitting the floor with a dull thump on the carpet. 

Damn it. He struggled to move Eli so he was propped up, head lolling to one side. If Neal didn’t somehow get him help soon he wasn’t going to make it. He briefly considered calling for Matt or Dave, but he doubted they would care if Eli died, and his splitting headache urged him to avoid them as much as possible. Then there was the question of who was really behind this that weighed on his mind. It could potentially be anyone he betrayed in helping Peter and the FBI, or someone from his own past long before who wanted revenge for a con he pulled. It was even possible that it was someone who wanted his expertise, and putting all those potential reasons together basically meant it could be any white collar criminal in the world. 

Eli whined beside him, shuddering and lurching forward. Neal reached to support him, thinking the young man was going to fall, but he pushed past Neal’s grasp, puking onto the carpet. 

His breath rattled when he finished retching onto the floor. Eli licked his lips, Neal figured he must be feeling dehydrated and lightheaded, he was and he hadn’t vomited. He should call for help, should try to get Eli to free his hands, should break the chain connecting his ankle to the pole, he thought he should do a lot of things, but his head felt heavy and what little he could see in the darkness swam with sleep. 

He laid down, watching the dim lights trail across the wall from a crack in the boarded up window. The sound of light coughing roused him slightly, but when it stopped he allowed himself to slip into unconsciousness, dreaming of a paintbrush between his fingers and a Parisian sunset on the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when im finished with this fic i want to write from Peter's POV of this story. would anyone be interested?


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated posting this before finishing Peter's POV, but here you go anyway. Both works are sectioned into chapters depicting the same time frames from both POV's. For best reading i suggest doing every other chapter, starting with this one and alternating. but its up to you. tags have been updated for this one, keep that in mind.

A bottle slammed into the wall next to his head. He jolted up, eyes burning at the sudden brightness in the room. 

One of the men, Matt or Dave, he couldn’t remember which was which, came trudging down the stairs, having flicked the light on at the top. He had another bottle in his hand, but the way he swayed as he walked toward Neal indicated he’d had more than that already, and the long, thirsty gulps he took from the drink didn’t bode well. The taller man finished his drink, reeling back and aiming at Neal’s head, narrowly missing as he ducked out of the way. 

“Ok,” He was going to try de-escalating the situation, but the man stepped up closer, leaning over Eli’s slumped form. “Shut up. SHUT UP!” He landed a heavy boot into Eli’s side, the only response he got was a groan. Neal weighed his options, he could deal with anything the drunk could throw at him, but in gaining an ally he also gained something that could be used against him, and Eli didn’t seem like he could take much more. He couldn’t live with that kind of blood on his hands. 

“Who hired you?” He sucked in a breath, waiting for the other man to stop pacing around the room in anger. 

“Someone who wanted YOU,” He poked an ugly finger in Neal’s face. “To do some goddamn forgery for him. But now we have a problem.” 

“He can’t get Johnny cleared of charges, which means,” He stepped a foot up on the cot, trapping Neal in the corner. “We have to figure out what to do with you.” He brought his stinking face up close to Neal’s face. He shoved him backwards, stomping hard on Eli’s stomach before up the stairs. 

Damn it, he was running out of time, and at this point he couldn’t rely on Peter for help. 

As soon as the door slammed shut he stood up shakily, kneeling next to Eli. He shook the young man gently with his bound hands, groaning when he didn’t wake up. Neal looked around the room as his eyes adjusted to the darkness again. There wasn’t anything down here within reach, and without his fingers he couldn’t even search Eli’s pockets. He sat back down on the cot, a sharp pain suddenly screaming through his thigh. He stifled a cry, looking down to see a shard of glass sticking out of his leg through the pajama pants he still wore. 

If it was sharp enough to imbed itself into his leg it might be sharp enough to cut through the thin material of the mitten-like restraints. He shifted weight to his other thigh, using his wrists to try to grab at the glass. He couldn’t get a good grip, the jagged edge threatening to slice his veins every time he tried to tug at it. 

That left him with only one real option. Sweat poured from his brow as he maneuvered his leg to a different angle, dragging the fabric of the restraints over the exposed glass sticking out of his thigh. The movement tugged painfully at the shard, and light scratching didn’t seem to be enough. So he dragged harder, swallowing a scream as the glass ripped out of his leg, blood pooling into the sheets. 

He bent forward to grip the glass in his teeth, resuming his attempts at removing the restraints. The glass cut his dry lips and tongue, but he just bit down harder as the fabric snagged. His breath heaved, arms burning with the repeated motion, he hadn’t eaten or drank anything in what felt like days, causing his head to swim in painful circles. Every few seconds the glass shifted, grinding against his teeth in a way that made him nauseous. He persisted, heart soaring every time he caught a loose thread, but despite the fabric being thin he couldn’t seem to get a good enough angle on it to slice through. 

Damn it all, he stuck the glass into the small crevice between the wrist band and the glove portion, flaying his palm as he jerked his hands up, finally ripping into the fabric. He repeated the motion, tears streaming down his face and into his mouth as the pain radiating from his hands and his mouth and his thigh overwhelmed him. He never did have a good tolerance for pain. 

One last cut and he could move his aching thumbs out of the hole he’d made, ripping it the rest of the way. He shook as his numb fingers fumbled with the velcro at the wrist, but it only took a moment before the broken restraints fell to the ground. 

Ok, now he could work on his leg. But the chain connecting his ankle to the column couldn’t be severed with glass, and he didn’t have anything to pick the lock with, not that his cramping fingers could preform the action anyway. 

Feeling was slowly returning to his cold hands, but, unfortunately for him, the feeling was pain, unending waves of stinging, cramping pain. He tried to search through Eli’s pockets, but the second he flexed his fingers at all they screamed in protest, sending agonizing waves up his arms. 

Damn it. 

He kicked at Eli’s leg lightly. Then a bit harder, hoping to rouse him. 

“Eli listen to me.” He sniffled, the room seemed to be getting colder by the second. “I need your help.” His head spun as he stood. “I’m sorry for this.” He placed a foot over Eli’s rib cage, pressing down with almost his full weight. The younger man yelped, catching his foot in a freezing hand. 

“N-Neal?”

Neal sat down next to him, helping him upright, hands screeching with the movement. 

“I need your help, please, if you help me get out I can get you help, look, I got my hands free,” Ok, he was definitely rambling, but Eli’s eyes were glazed and he seemed to look straight through him. “Do you have the key to the ankle lock Eli? Eli!” The younger man groaned, patting his pockets for a second, his breath stuttering as he pulled a key from his pants, shaking as he handed it to Neal. 

“Oh god thank you, thank you Eli.” He fumbled with the key, thanks streaming from his lips as the lock clicked open, freeing his ankle. He couldn’t help a bitter laugh at how many times he’d longed of freeing his ankle from Peter’s watchful eye, and how he now he longed to see Peter’s face more than anything. 

He thanked god one last time for his kidnappers being idiots before clamoring to his feet. 

“I’ll get you help, I promise.” 

He tried not to think about the fact that the other mans eyes had already slipped closed. 

Neal limped to the base of the stairs, taking them slowly so as not to fall, but the steps swayed beneath him and he tumbled backwards, unsure of how hurt he was beyond a pounding in his head where it had hit the wall behind him. 

Can't think about that now, he had to get out. 

The door wasn’t locked when he finally reached the top, he laughed under his breath as it opened easily. 

Thank god for idiots. 

It was dark in the hallway too, he couldn’t process what that meant for how long he’d been gone, but he didn’t have to, the front door stood at just the other end of the room, soon he’d be free and Peter could tell him just how long he’d been gone. He lurched forward, leaning against the wall. His vision swirled. He touched his fingers to his head, they came back red. When did that happen? 

Whatever, it didn’t matter now. Not when he was so close. All the fear and panic he hadn’t let himself feel before came crashing over him in waves. His heart pounded with each staggering step, he sweat profusely despite the freezing room, he thought maybe he was crying, but he couldn’t even really tell through the fog creeping into his brain. 

The room swayed, he thought he heard footsteps approaching, but they faded away too, red and blue lights suddenly swimming through his vision. 

Ha, so Peter did come for him. 

One of the men came around the corner, he tried to fight, to run, to kick or scream or scratch, but one of the mans hairy arms wrapped around his neck, holding him flush against the larger body.

He pulled and thrashed, but the other man didn’t budge. 

He said something to Neal, but he couldn’t hear what it was, panic coursing through his veins. 

The door in front of him burst open, allowing the flashing lights to flood the room. 

And there was Peter, standing silhouetted against the red and blue, like an angel of justice come to rescue him. Liberation of Saint Peter came to mind, his brain filling in the brushstrokes for the fittingly named piece. 

Something pressed against his head, mumbled words floated around him like the rays of golden light Murillo painted. 

He couldn’t think, but he smiled at Peter, his guardian angel. 

A click from the side of his head cut through the fog, he heard Peter saying his name, calling his name out over the sound of a trigger being pulled. 

And then, there was nothing. No angel to rescue him, no golden light shimmering across a canvas, no Parisian sunset to be painted, no wine to be shared with Mozzie, no ankle monitor, no earned freedom, no Peter. 

It made him sick, time slowing to a crawl as he blinked. 

His brain was gently exploding, chasing his thoughts from his mind. 

He would have cried out if he’d had time, but his last thought, the bright light before the darkness, his final contribution to the vast endless universe. 

His final thought was echoing through his breaking neurons. 

Why didn’t Peter save me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the painting i'm referencing. https://lectionaryartorg.files.wordpress.com/2017/05/1139px-liberacion_de_san_pedro_murillo_1667.jpg
> 
> Also i listened to rhapsody on a theme of paganini preformed by van cliburn while writing this so if i get weird near the end thats why. also its 3 am and i dont edit shit so enjoy my mistakes.


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